


The Exorcism of Killian Jones

by RumDrum91



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Exorcisms, F/M, Horror, Psychological Horror, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23336455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RumDrum91/pseuds/RumDrum91
Summary: Killian Jones suffers from migraines. But they're more than just migraines. The pain is blinding, all-consuming, and attacks without warning. And then he starts hallucinating horrifying things, waking up in places he has no memory of.Something is happening to him. Something unnatural. Something...dark.*Characters and ratings will be updated as necessary.I'm also on Tumblr, username rumdrum91. I post mainly Killian/ Captain Swan gif sets, but I'm fairly new. Give me a follow, and I will follow right back! I also take requests for one shots or gif sets, if you like my work:)
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	The Exorcism of Killian Jones

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Captain Swan story!!!! Not much CS here yet, only a little, but I would appreciate any comments or suggestions!!! Thank you:)

The television flickered as some mindless sitcom played on screen. Canned laughter poured through the speakers, making his already aching head throb. Killian grit his teeth, fingers tightening around the armrests of his chair; eyes boring into the screen as he fought the pain down. _It’s just a headache,_ he told himself as his thoughts turned longingly toward the vial waiting in his medicine cabinet. _You don’t need them._

He was lying. It wasn’t just a headache. It was a migraine. _A serious, potentially life-threatening neurological disease thought to be caused by the dilation and constriction of blood vessels,_ as the pamphlet said. It mentioned something about _severe pain_ , as well, but there were no words to describe the feeling of a thousand knives plunging into his head and sinking in until the blade, guard, and hilt were all buried in his skull. Every vessel—not just in his head—pounded with the infected blood, screaming in his ears, until his whole body was on the verge of collapse.

Last Christmas, after he had passed out from an attack and woken up in the emergency room, he’d finally gone to a doctor. Victor Whale, an arrogant young man who seemed enchanted by his own brilliance, had scribbled the name of a strong narcotic on a prescription slip and signed it with a flourish. “Now, don’t go overdoing it,” he’d said with a wink. “Or you’re going to have a whole new set of problems.” Another addiction was the last thing Killian needed, so he avoided using the pills as much as possible.

But tonight, he might need one.

Killian slowly lifted his head, looking toward the bathroom door. It was only down the hall, just a few steps, really. He just needed _one_ : one little pill, and then he could go back to watching whatever the hell he was watching. All he had to do was make it to the medicine cabinet.

On shaky legs, he rose out of his seat, keeping his gaze focused on the door handle. A wave of nausea rolled in the pit of his stomach, his eyes watering against his pounding head. “Just a little bit farther, come on, come on,” he whispered. In something of a daze, he inched forward. Closer… closer….almost there… _just a little bit farther now—_

He grasped the door handle, clinging to it as he stumbled inside. The mirrored cabinet panes reflected a ghostly version of himself, with shadowed eyes more gray than blue looking out of a gaunt, weary face. He turned the faucet to fill a glass, then cupped both hands under to splash his face with the icy water. A shudder ran down his spine, invigorating him enough to open the cabinet and take out the orange prescription vial. He looked at the label, emblazoned with his name and _Vicodin, 5 mg._ With a sigh, he shook out one of the white capsules, popped it in his mouth, then took a long sip of water.

“No more,” Killian told himself, firmly capping the vial and putting it back in the cabinet, closing the door to put it out of sight. He turned the water on again and splashed his face, the icy sting on his skin seeming to clear his head: not of the pain, but rather the muddled temptation to take just _one_ more Vicodin. He didn’t need it, he didn’t need it, he didn’t need it.

He raised his head, water dripping off his face, and stared at his reflection. Taking a deep breath, he gripped either side of the sink and waited for the pain in his head to subside. Normally, it took an hour or so before the effects set in, but he wasn’t sure how far he could walk right now. The migraine still raged: he fancied he could feel each, individual blood vessel squeezing and pinching and threatening to burst.

His vision blurred. He blinked, forcing himself to focus, staring into the depths of his hollowed eyes. _Calm down. You’re all right. Just stay on your feet and keep breathing._

Something stirred in him: a sense of realization, that something…was not quite right. Something in the mirror was off; as though it was a glitch in a program. Not obvious, but definitely there. Frowning, he leaned forward, trying to decipher it. His eyes moved from the ginger specks in his stubble to the small scar on his cheek to—

“What the hell?” he muttered, raising a hand to the edge of his eye. One of his eyelashes was twitching, apparently trying to come loose of its own accord. But it wasn’t an eyelash…it was something _in_ his eye. Under the lid.

And then there were two: two not-eyelashes wriggling out, soon joined by a third. His heart hammered, panic sending his blood pumping faster, his migraine worsening. The three not-eyelashes flailed out, and then a small, insect-like head poked out from under the lid.

He yelped, clapping both hands to his eye, frantically scrabbling as the insect skittered around. He could feel more—more—pouring out, a stream of insects crawling and skittering and scattering on his skin, in his hair, down his shirt. He screamed, his heart pounding faster than it ever had, the migraine growing beyond his brain’s capacity, threatening to burst his skull open—

Killian gasped and snapped his head up, his eyes wide and fearful. His heart was still beating too fast, but it began to slow as he realized that there were no insects in his eyes, nothing suspicious or off about his refection, nothing _wrong._

He was still in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror, gripping the sink and waiting for the medication to kick in. It hadn’t been real; just a hallucination.

His head throbbed, as if to emphasize that, yes, he was awake and not in a waking nightmare. Maybe it was a side effect of the Vicodin, or from lack of sleep—something he should probably confide to a doctor, but right now, knowing it hadn’t been real sent a wave of relief over him. He breathed deeply and slowly pushed away from the sink, stepping out of the bathroom.

A cool rush of wind from the open window washed over him as he moved down the hallway, trailing his fingers against the wall for support. He nudged the bedroom door open with his shoulder, kicking a shoe out of the way. The room was dark, as he had drawn the curtains to shut out the city lights. He nearly tripped several times before he found the bed, but he’d rather trip than have the light trigger another migraine.

With a sigh, he sank onto the bed and let his head hit the pillow. The blood in his head was still pounding, but it was starting to subside into a slower, steadying rhythm. The pain had already began to lessen. Gratefully, he closed his eyes and let the darkness press down on him.

*******

Birds were chirping amidst the sounds of early-morning traffic. A cool breeze ruffled his hair, and the grass beneath him was wet with dew, soaking into his T-shirt. Killian slowly cracked his eyes open. A frown creased his forehead as he stared up at the gray sky, confusion keeping his body rooted to the spot.

He was laying on his back, outside, with dewey grass and wet mulch beneath him. How he got there, he didn’t know. The last thing he remembered was falling into bed after taking a Vicodin.

Killian gingerly raised himself on his elbows, looking around at his surroundings. For a minute, it looked completely foreign to him, made up entirely of blurry shapes and fog. But then he recognized a sign, and the sidewalk to his right, and the great, brick, window-paned building. He was in the front lawn of his apartment complex, and—as he realized with a start—several of his neighbors were peeping out of their windows, staring at him.

He smiled weakly, and tried to wave, but it did nothing to appease old Mrs. Lucas’s suspicions. She narrowed her eyes behind her spectacles and shook her head in disapproval. No doubt, she assumed he’d spent the night getting pissed drunk and had wandered outside in a stupor. He _wished_ that had been the case. At least he would have known how the hell he got here.

“Are you okay?”

He turned his head at the unfamiliar voice, looking toward the front doors where a slender, blonde woman in a plaid bathrobe stood, looking at him in concern. She started down the steps, walking across the lawn as he tried to stand.

“I’m fine, really,” he started to say, but she didn’t seem interested in that. Though he towered over her, she took both sides of his face and peered critically between his eyes. Killian jerked back, startled

“It’s all right, I’m a nurse,” she explained, now checking his head for bumps and bruises. “What’s your name?”

“Uh—Killian,” he stammered, bewildered by her rapidly moving fingers as they lifted the lids of his eyes.

“Killian? I’m Emma.” She spoke in a calm, steadying voice, as though he were a mental patient on the verge of psychosis. “Do you know where you are?”

“Yeah, I’m in front of my building.” Killian flinched as she pressed her cold fingers to his neck and checked for a pulse. “I’m fine, I promise.”

“Have you ever sleep-walked before?” she asked as though he hadn’t said anything. “Did you combine any medications or substances?”

“No, I’m fine,” he repeated, trying to pull away from her. “I take Vicodin for migraines, I think it’s just a side effect.”

Emma finally lowered her hands, though she still studied him with a concerned frown. “That’s a pretty serious side effect,” she informed him. “You should report it to your doctor. That shouldn’t be happening.”

“Fine—whatever,” Killian said, somewhat exasperatedly. “Look, I really appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. All right?”

Her frown deepened, but she wasn’t arguing either. Killian gave her a tight smile and moved past her, making his way across the lawn and toward the steps.

“You might want to see a neurologist!” she called after him. “There could be something else going on!”

Killian turned around with a smile, walking backwards with his arms out. “Thanks!” he called back. “But I told you—I’m fine! Really!”

The smile vanished from his face as he turned around, trudging through the wet grass. It was a lie. His head was already plagued by migraines, and now, he was hallucinating and losing time. Something was happening to him.

He was not fine.


End file.
